“Now don’t look astonished, if you please.” “I vow to you, Master van Spennen,” Cornelius replied, “that I am completely at a loss to understand what you want.” “Then I shall put you in the way, Doctor,” said the judge; “give up to us the papers which the traitor Cornelius de Witt deposited with you in the month of January last.” A sudden light came into the mind of Cornelius. “Halloa!” said Van Spennen, “you begin now to remember, don’t you?” “Indeed I do, but you spoke of seditious papers, and I have none of that sort.” “You deny it then?” “Certainly I do.” The magistrate turned round and took a rapid survey of the whole cabinet. “Where is the apartment you call your dry-room?” he asked. “The very same where you now are, Master van Spennen.” The magistrate cast a glance at a small note at the top of his papers. “All right,” he said, like a man who is sure of his ground. Then, turning round towards Cornelius, he continued, “Will you give up those papers to me?” “But I cannot, Master van Spennen; those papers do not belong to me; they have been deposited with me as a trust, and a trust is sacred.” “Dr. Cornelius,” said the judge, “in the name of the States, I order you to open this drawer, and to give up to me the papers which it contains.” Saying this, the judge pointed with his finger to the third drawer of the press, near the fireplace. In this very drawer, indeed the papers deposited by the Warden of the Dikes with his godson were lying; a proof that the police had received very exact information. “Ah! you will not,” said Van Spennen, when he saw Cornelius standing immovable and bewildered, “then I shall open the drawer myself.” And, pulling out the drawer to its full length, the magistrate at first alighted on about twenty bulbs, carefully arranged and ticketed, and then on the paper parcel, which had remained in exactly the same state as it was when delivered by the unfortunate Cornelius de Witt to his godson. The magistrate broke the seals, tore off the envelope, cast an eager glance on the first leaves which met his eye and then exclaimed, in a terrible voice,-- “Well, justice has been rightly informed after all!” “How,” said Cornelius, “how is this?” “Don’t pretend to be ignorant, Mynheer van Baerle,” answered the magistrate. “Follow me.” “How’s that! follow you?” cried the Doctor. “Yes, sir, for in the name of the States I arrest you.” Arrests were not as yet made in the name of William of Orange; he had not been Stadtholder long enough for that. “Arrest me!” cried Cornelius; “but what have I done?” “That’s no affair of mine, Doctor; you will explain all that before your judges.” “Where?” “At the Hague.” Cornelius, in mute stupefaction, embraced his old nurse, who was in a swoon; shook hands with his servants, who were bathed in tears, and followed the magistrate, who put him in a coach as a prisoner of state and had him driven at full gallop to the Hague. Chapter 8. An Invasion